


A Million Little Times

by freshhippiehell



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post-Season/Series 03, au i guess, i am bored and this is where the muse took me, i just moved into a new house and i'm waiting for my mates, i promise this is a swanqueen fic i do not fuck with captain swan, i was blindsided by it i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshhippiehell/pseuds/freshhippiehell
Summary: When Emma and Hook fall back in time, they fall to right before Rumple lets his son go. Emma, being the fabulous idiot she is, somehow prevents Bae from opening the portal (for reasons that are entirely out of her control). Fast forward a few hundred years, and what is the world they create?
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> imma be honest i haven’t watched past season three of ouat and i don’t remember every detail of the first three seasons but this popped into my head and i couldn’t fight it. this might require some suspension of disbelief idk, and in the meantime if you’ve got any ideas for me toss ’em my way.

Emma wakes up on the ground and tastes dirt. She looks around - for Hook, for the barn, for any semblance of understanding. She finds one of them, and unfortunately it’s not the one she wants most. Hook groans from a few feet away and struggles to his feet, shaking dirt and branches off of him. Emma stands as well, taking in her surroundings. They’re standing adjacent to some kind of dirt path, littered with the debris of their impact. They’re only just hidden by the tree line, and Emma's grateful most of the trees are still intact, as several large branches are strewn across the dirt road - a direct result of the trees being smacked with two people from out of nowhere, she supposes. A glance in every direction doesn’t give her any idea of where they are. “We’re not in Kansas anymore,” she says, unable to stop herself. It helps her cope. They are, after all, stuck not only in a different place, but a different time. 

Hook looks confused. “Kansas? What sort of realm is Kansas?” 

Emma huffs and shakes her head. “No, it’s not a realm, it’s a -” 

“Papa, please!” A young voice floats through from somewhere down the path. Emma’s head shoots up and she instinctively starts to move toward it. She gets two steps forward before Hook grabs her and pulls her deeper into the tree line. 

“Come on, Swan, use your head! We can’t risk changing anything.” He shushes her when she opens her mouth to speak, as the boy’s voice seems to be getting closer. 

“Papa, you promised!” He sounds desperate, angry, scared. It’s then that Hook recognizes the voice and he freezes. Emma gives him a look that turns quickly to alarm when she hears another voice.

“I know, Bae, but you must understand, I -”

“What more is there to understand? You said if I find a way - and I did - that you’d come. We made a deal!” 

Emma can’t help it. She gently peeks out a little further to try to see them. The boy, Baelfire - Neal? Oh God - is stomping forward at a pace just too quick for his father. Emma supposes that is the point, only Mr. Gold doesn’t seem to have a limp here, and he also appears to be… a lizard? Yeah, ok, sure. Why not? The wizard who is not Mr. Gold looks around at the large branches on the ground as if he knows they shouldn't be there. Which should be impossible, but he is the Dark One, and to top it all off they are from the future. Hook pulls her back again, and the sudden grip on her arms makes her gasp, a sound she quickly stifles by clamping her mouth shut. 

“What was that?” The not-Gold says, looking off in a direction that is uncomfortably close to Emma and Hook’s hiding place. He once again eyes the branches littering the ground, an arrow pointing directly to them. His eyes narrow. But Baelfire - because that boy is most certainly not Neal, not yet anyway - pulls his father’s attention back to him. 

“You’re not getting out of this that easy, Papa. There’s nothing there. You just don’t want to honor our deal.” His father’s strange face crumples a little, and he looks at his son like he wants to make him happy but doesn’t really want to try. Baelfire starts rifling through his clothing, dodging branches as he does so. Despite his father’s warnings to watch where he steps, he looks down at his hands, now cradling a bean. Emma feels Hook stiffen beside her just as Baelfire yelps and there’s the sound of a heavy impact on the ground. 

“Bae!” Gold’s voice is definitely concerned, Emma will give him that. “I told you to be careful!” Emma sees him crouch down to help his son up. He checks his palms for scrapes and fusses over his hair, much to Baelfire’s irritation. 

“Papa, I’m fine.” Baelfire searches around his feet, his eyes increasingly distressed. “Where is it?” 

“Where is what, son?” 

“The bean, Papa! The bean that’s going to take us to a land without magic! Because we made a deal! Because you promised!” Emma sees something out of the corner of her eye, lying next to her feet, and oh isn’t fate cruel? She could kick the bean out to them, but that would alert the already-suspicious not-Gold to their presence. They could leave and let the boy wander around and find it himself, but leaving would require rustling around and, again, alerting Gold. They had no choice but to remain stalk still and hope that Baelfire and his scary magical father wouldn’t come looking. Shit. 

“It’s alright, Bae, we’ll find another way.” Emma believes that even less than she believes his usual bullshit. And, it seems, so does Baelfire. Resigned, the boy kicks at the debris on the ground and turns to head back toward where they came from. Gold hurries after him, moving suspiciously faster now than he was before. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” Bae doesn’t respond. His father tries again. “I’ll make your favorite tonight! I’ll - I’ll invite your friends. You can have fun like you used to.” 

“You mean like I used to before you became the Dark One and started terrorizing everyone? Before you scared off all my friends? I don’t want anything from you anymore.” His feet drag, kicking up dirt to coat his already dirty shoes. 

“Oh, Bae…” Emma stops listening after that. She bends to pick up the bean and without a second thought shoves it into her pocket. She looks over at Hook, who’s staring into space, no doubt thinking of all the ways they just fucked up the timeline. Neither of them speak for a few minutes, each wanting to let it sink in just how screwed they are. 

A tingling in her left hand shocks Emma out of her trance, and she brings her hand up so she can look at it. At least, she would look at it if it weren’t strangely translucent now. Her heart pounds in her ears. She shoves her hand at Hook. “What the hell is this?” She tries not to shout, but the rising pitch in her voice makes that hard. Hook tries to grab at her hand but his hand falls right through hers. The tingling is slowly making its way up her arm, making Emma’s stomach flip. Then she remembers Back To The Future. “Am I ceasing to exist, or whatever?” This is happening way faster than it happened to Marty McFly. 

Hook looks back and forth between Emma’s vanishing hand and where Baelfire and Gold had just been walking a moment before. “We need to get that bean to Baelfire. It’s the only way to ensure the future happens how it’s meant to.” 

“So we have to purposely separate a child from his parent?” That doesn't sit well with Emma. Even though she knows it's kind of already happened. Even though she knows that father is Mr. Gold. She can't make herself do it. She meets Hook’s eyes. “I don’t know if I can.” The tingling in her arm reaches her elbow. She takes a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s go rip Baelfire away from Rumplestiltskin.” 

……

After a shady change of clothes and a lot of walking, Emma and Hook find their way to a small village, much smaller than she expected to find. Everything about Mr. Gold back in Storybrooke dripped wealth, bred extravagance and subtle manipulations. Emma grips the bean in her right hand, the idea of giving it to Baelfire both stomach-churning and inevitable. Not having a left arm shifts your ideals a bit, she supposes. When she had asked Hook why he remained fine, he had said something about him existing in this world no matter what. It figures that Gold would have his hands in literally everything that's happened in the last few… centuries? Whatever. So if Gold keeps his son, she's never born? Is that what all this means? Or is it this version of her that's never born? Will she just become someone else? 

Emma shakes her head a little too violently. That’s a spiral for another time. 

The two of them reach a house, one that looks just like all the others. She’s about to ask how Hook knows this is the house they’re looking for when a boy runs out the door, a boy she recognizes immediately as teenage Baelfire. He really does look like Henry. Oh, Henry. That decides it for her. She can do this if it means she’ll be able to get back to Henry. 

Hook leads her around to the back of the house. “We’ll go in while he’s gone, leave the bean, and let him find it later.”

Emma raises her stump arm. “And if that takes too long?” 

“He can't see us. Baelfire’s not supposed to meet me yet. And he’s not supposed to meet you until much later.” Emma grumbles but accepts his reasoning, and they sneak through the back door. 

They get two feet into the simple house when Hook loses his ability to breathe. Emma instinctively throws her hands - uh, hand - up into the air in a placating gesture. Hook claws at his throat and begs for her help. Emma fumbles around trying to help, but she’s stopped when arguably the last man she wants to see steps up to the two of them and grins. 

“How lucky am I,” he says, spitting grime and venom and fire, “that the dishonorable Captain Hook has seen fit to grace me with his presence?” He closes his fist a little tighter, and Hook chokes and sputters, going limp and slumping against the wall. 

Emma’s eyes are wide. “Did you just kill him?” 

Rumplestiltskin waves his hand dismissively. “Oh relax, dearie, he’s merely sleeping. That bit of fun comes later. Now leave before I decide you deserve the same fate as the pirate.” He turns and walks back toward the front of the house. Emma follows him. 

“Mr. G - Rumplestiltskin, I need your help.” 

“I don’t do that, dearie. Go seek out the Blue Fairy or one of her pets.” He throws himself onto an old looking chair, and Emma fights her instincts to run and steps closer to him so she can look him squarely in his otherworldly face. Her stump arm is quickly losing its stump, and she spins so he can see her startling lack of an arm up close. 

“Do you see this? I’m disappearing! Because you still have your son!” 

That maybe wasn't the best way to start. The Dark One leans forward in his chair, his eyes dark. His teeth grind and his jaw is set. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Emma takes a gulp of air, to fight against her nerves or the tingling in her right hand she doesn’t know. Well she's in it now. “It means I’m from the future, and things weren’t supposed to happen like this!” 

“But time travel is impossible.” His curiosity is slowly eroding his mistrust. 

“Well, someone gets there. And now I’m here.” She waves her good arm at Hook. “And so is he. That’s not your Hook. Your Hook is out doing… whatever it is Hook is doing at this point in time.” 

“Nothing good.” Rumplestiltskin spits, on the verge of a chuckle. Emma almost lets herself relax, but when he jumps out of his chair and leans into her personal space, she’s torn between decking him in the face and passing out, both of which she most definitely cannot do right now. He speaks slowly, threateningly. “You said something about me still having my son, as if I am not supposed to have him. Elaborate on that, will you?” The words are pleasant, but his tone is icy. Emma decides right then that lizard Gold is the worst. 

Emma says nothing and simply holds out the bean that is starting to fall through her right hand. It slips from her grasp and falls into Rumplestiltskin’s waiting palm. He turns it over and over, studying it. He speaks without taking his eyes off the bean. “It was you in the trees. I knew I sensed a presence. And I suppose you’re to blame for the destruction on the road as well?” 

“Destruction seems like a harsh word, and I -” 

“But it was you.”

It’s a statement, so Emma doesn’t answer him right away. Instead, she treads carefully. “Your son, Baelfire -” Rumplestiltskin's eyes snap up at his son’s name. “- he’s supposed to use this. He goes to the land without magic. And you stay here.” 

His nostrils flare and he clenches his fingers around the bean. “No.” 

Emma tries to be diplomatic. “Yes.” Way to go, Emma. She turns around. Hook is still out cold on the floor. When Emma looks back, Gold is crushing the bean in his hand. He loosens his fingers and lets its remains fall to the floor, dust. “Gold what the hell? Don’t you see the future or something? Can’t you see how bad this is?” 

The Dark One raises an eyebrow at her. Emma swears softly to herself. She can’t feel her right arm past her elbow, and the tingling is getting worse and moving faster. She doesn’t know what else to do. She wants to cry. She wants to hit something. She wants… she wants her parents. So Neal gets to keep his shitty father but she has to lose her parents all over again? How is that fair? She looks up at him, hoping he has some small portion of a heart left to feel for her. “What am I supposed to do now?” 

He takes in her broken appearance, and for a moment she thinks he’s going to be good. Good like Belle is always insisting he is, deep down. But he sneers at her, and she knows she was a fool. “That is not my concern.” He stands up straighter and brushes his hands over his clothes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am going out to see my son. Be gone when I return.” He stalks over to the entrance to the home. Right before he leaves, he peers back at her. “Oh, and, leave the pirate.” Then he’s gone. 

Fucking Rumplestiltskin. 

She’s thinking about Henry when her legs give out, the taste of dirt still fresh in her mouth.


	2. A Few Hundred Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i literally could not tell you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey what's up we're really in the shit now, huh? this story is purely me going insane during quarantine so i’m both immensely sorry and eternally shameless.

Emma dreams of falling and the color yellow, of a young boy without a face and a pirate with a hook for a hand. She dreams of a woman she's never met and yet she's sure she knows what it feels like to touch her face. She dreams of her parents in different clothes. When she wakes and the wave of fight or flight passes, she feels the inexplicable urge to cry but she doesn’t feel grief. She just feels empty. She looks around, and she feels out of place in a room she's lived in her whole life. Chalking it up to her parents never letting her change rooms, she slips out of bed and moves to sit in front of her vanity. She doesn't have long before Jane comes in to help her dress and prepare for the day.

Her reflection in the mirror is hiding something from her. Her eyes know too much and there are laugh lines there, like she’s lived longer and done more than she remembers. She wriggles her fingers, stretching them and staring at them as if they are an anomaly. Perhaps her dreams are seeping into her waking moments. A knock on the door alerts her to Jane’s presence, and she smiles at the young woman and greets her kindly. Jane hurries to the wardrobe. “No trousers today, Your Highness. The King and Queen have requested you meet for a formal meal this morning.” 

Emma sighs to herself but nods, ignoring the stirring in her belly caused by “Your Highness”, and she steps into the clothing Jane holds out for her. Every time she puts on a dress she’s overcome with just how wrong it feels for daily clothing. She misses the feeling of… something. The ghost of tough trousers on her legs and the weight of something heavy on her hip. As soon as it hits her, the feeling is gone, and she’s left to wonder what it was that seemed so real. Once she’s dressed she tells Jane she can do her hair herself - something her mother heavily disagrees with. Jane chuckles to herself, but she lingers by Emma’s vanity. 

“Yes, Jane?” Emma’s voice is not unfriendly. 

“Are you planning to head into town today?” Ah, that’s right. Emma goes into town as often as she can, exploring and familiarizing herself with all the possible corners she could hide, if the need arose. Not that the need has ever arisen, but Emma is nothing if not prepared. It’s an instinct she’s always had, the need to prepare for the eventuality of people leaving her. It is completely unfounded, as she’s never experienced loss in her life, but something nags at her mind and tells her to be ready, so she listens to it. And she likes the town, likes the people she meets that she wouldn’t normally interact with inside the castle. People her parents probably knew regularly before they became monarchs. 

“I’d like to,” she says carefully, picking up on a threat that’s so obviously not there. A condition, maybe, but no threat. Something powerful rumbles beneath her skin, waiting to jump out. It’s frightening and exhilarating and she feels like more than herself. 

Jane’s eyes light up. “If you are, might I ask a small favor of you, Your Highness?” Emma once again fights a cringe at the title. It doesn’t suit her. Emma nods at her to continue. 

“There’s a man who has a stall at the market. He is not always there, but if he is there today, would you mind giving this to him?” Emma looks down and Jane is holding out a folded up piece of parchment. Emma takes it and slips it into her undergarments. Jane breaks into a grateful smile. “He sells hats. You’ll know him when you see him.” 

A bell sounds from out in the hall, and Emma tenses. She reaches for her side, but of course there is nothing there. Nothing that could protect her anyway. Jane does not notice her apprehension. “My apologies, Your Highness. I did not mean to delay your meeting with the King and Queen.”

Emma dismisses her and hurries down to meet her parents. Trying to descend the stairs as gracefully as possible, she curses how little experience she’s had for how old she is. She is old enough to have her own life certainly. But something always keeps her at home, with her parents. A clawing sense of desperation overwhelms her, insists she should remain by her parents’ side as long as she can. As long as they'll have her. 

She reaches the breakfast table and smiles in relief when her mother nods at her in approval. Has her mother always looked so young? “There you are, Emma!” Her mother engulfs her in a hug, followed quickly by her father. Emma drinks up the closeness and ignores the fact that it feels strangely alien to her. They separate and take their seats at the large table. Servants enter and place food in front of them before quickly departing. 

Her parents hesitate, looking awkwardly at their food and at each other, anywhere but at their daughter. Emma takes a bite and waits for them to speak, knowing they will eventually. She takes another, and another, and then her mother finally opens her mouth. “Emma, your father and I have something to discuss with you.” 

Emma doesn’t miss a beat. “Is it about Uncle James and Grandfather again?” The war room is always alight with chaos regarding her father’s boastful twin and his greedy monarch of a father. Her parents had to fight tooth and nail to create their tiny kingdom, especially when King George and Prince James received news of their rise. James couldn’t stand someone with his face sullying his name, and George has never been able to help himself when it comes to flexing his own political prowess. 

Her father speaks for the first time that morning. “No, Em, it’s not.” 

Emma takes another bite and swallows. “Oh, so what is it?” Apprehension plants its seeds in her gut. Have they found out about her secret travels to the abandoned castle in the East? Everyone in the kingdom is forbidden from so much as looking at it, making it a perfect object of Emma’s infatuation ever since she was young. She’s never been inside, but every time she journeys there she gets a little closer. It’s large and imposing, dark and oh so tantalizing. Emma’s always felt out of place in her own skin, but whatever haunts that castle would surely sympathize with her plight. 

The king speaks again, this time with less caution: “we’ve found you a husband.” 

Emma nearly chokes. So not the castle, then. No, this is even worse. The seeds of apprehension take root and grow along the walls of her insides. After an uncomfortably long time trying to sort out the food lodged in her throat, she takes a drink and makes sure her frown is evident on her face. “We had an agreement,” she starts, sounding so unlike herself it’s startling. Or maybe this has always been her. “I don’t marry unless I choose. That’s what we decided when I was seventeen.” 

“But, Emma, it’s been ten years.” Her mother has her best interests. She must. But she had the luxury of marrying for love, surely she’d want her daughter to have the same luxury. Of course Snow White had found her Charming at a much younger age than Emma currently was. Or so she was told. 

She’s seeing red. Her heart feels like it's going to smash through her chest. “But you promised!” She shakes off a vision of a teenage boy walking in the woods, not having the slightest interest in unraveling her subconscious right now. She's always been told she has an excellent imagination, but now is not the time to deal with it. She fights against an impending headache. “We made a deal!” 

“Emma, you haven’t even heard who we’ve selected yet.” Her father’s tone is measured, as if he’s trying to make her see reason. 

“I don’t care! We made a deal!” That phrase is spinning through her mind so quickly it makes her dizzy. They made a deal. What kind of parent breaks deals with their child? What kind of… She grips the side of the table to keep from falling. 

Snow White is at her daughter’s side in a moment. “Are you alright?” She cradles Emma’s shoulders, communicating through touch that she can breathe, she can calm down. But Emma doesn’t feel calm. She feels betrayed and angry, and she wonders at their audacity to abandon her again. Again? They made a deal. They made a deal. They made a… 

The table is cold when it meets the skin of Emma’s cheek. Why does she taste dirt? 

……

Emma does not dream, and when she wakes up in her bed she does not feel empty. She feels good despite the light throbbing in her head. She sees the sun shining through the window and wonders why she had been allowed to sleep so late. This does not feel like her. Feet shuffle towards her, and she is happy to see Jane. 

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” 

Emma doesn’t understand her concern. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Jane furrows her brows. “Highness, do you not remember this morning?” The throbbing in Emma’s head gets stronger. Her mind is muddy, but she can make out the memory of parchment, of choking, of being angry. She shakes her head, wanting Jane to explain it to her. “The King and Queen have found you a suitor, a perfect match they say. But I believe you did not take it well, if you do not mind my saying so.” Jane takes a hesitant step forward. “And you, well, you agreed to deliver a note for me. To the hatter in the market.” 

That bit sounds more familiar, so Emma nods. She thinks she can feel the parchment hidden beneath her shift. Jane must have changed her clothes, then. The door to her room opens, and a stern voice informs Jane she can leave. Jane nods and closes the door behind her. 

Her mother and father, looking how they always have, stand over her as if they are afraid of breaking her. Or as if she might bite them. Either way Emma does not take too kindly to it. Her mother sits next to her on her bed and pushes her blond hair away from her face. “Would you just meet him?” She says softly, “I think you’d like him.” Her tone is pleading, and her eyes search Emma’s face for hostility. 

“Alright,” Emma relents, “I’ll meet with him.” This does not feel like her. 

Her father’s shoulders immediately relax. “Well, I guess that is a start.” They all sigh together, and it strikes Emma as gloriously mundane. The King ventures further. “He’s descended from power, you know. A very well-regarded family.” As if to tell her that he wasn’t, and look how hard it was for him and Snow White. It’s been years and their kingdom, though prosperous, is small. This match would ensure Emma never wanted for anything, nothing her parents wanted for anyway. 

After a few more moments of quiet conversation, Emma feigns tiredness, letting her eyelids droop. Her mother falls for it. “Come now, Charming, let’s let her sleep.” They retreat from her room, and the second Emma can no longer hear their footfalls she’s out of bed, shoving trousers onto her legs and grabbing her cloak from the chest by her bed. ‘Marriage, my ass,’ a dull voice in her head chants. That voice sounds more like her than she’s comfortable with. She tucks Jane’s note into a satchel, fighting the urge to read it. Her boots on, her hair in a hurried braid, and her father’s old sword strapped to her side, she heads for the windows. 

As she descends, the sun beating down on her and calling her a fool, she pictures the forbidden castle in her head, beckoning her. She would be back in time for supper, yes she would. And Jane would cover for her. Reckless, filled with righteous anger, her fists clenched and her hair back. Yes, she thinks. This feels like her.


	3. Hush Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it would be a character study if i hadn’t completely changed the character’s development

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you drink your daily dose of suspension of disbelief? bc i'm testing it once again.

Sneaking out at night would be hard enough. Sneaking out during the day? A fool’s journey. Luckily the people in town are familiar enough with Emma’s visits that they don’t pay her too much mind. She walks along the lines of stalls, searching for the hatter Jane wanted her to find. She’d never seen him there before, but Jane wasn’t one to lie. Emma thinks she sees him a few times out of the corner of her eye, but when she looks closer it always turns out to be someone else, selling books or herbs or hand-woven shawls. 

She finally finds him, nestled between a woman trading flowers for healing potions and another trading healing potions for flowers. Her eye drifts away from him as if of its own accord, and Emma has to make herself focus in order to finally realize he is in fact who she’s searching for. Rows of hats line his small stand, ranging from large and ornate to old and worn. He is the only vendor in the market who seems to lack customers. When Emma walks right up to him, he seems surprised to have garnered her attention. 

“What can I do for you, madam?” he says, overflowing with charisma. The hood of Emma’s cloak remains firmly over her head, and she tilts her head at him. He waves his hands by a few of the hats nearest to him. “A hat, perchance?” 

Emma takes a breath and steps closer, pulling the parchment from her satchel. She holds it out to him, meeting his eyes. When he sees her, there is an undeniable recognition in his face. But Emma must have imagined it, because she’s never met this man before. Instead of taking the parchment, he takes hold of her hand. A shadow overtakes his face, and he looks right through her. “It’s you. You’re the reason time is wrong.” Emma tries to pull her hand free of his grasp, but he only tightens his grip. “You have to fix it.” He pauses, then: “and perhaps, buy a hat as well? It is always good to help out those in need.” 

This was supposed to be a quick interlude before her trek to the forbidden castle. It was starting to take longer than she’d planned, and she didn’t like the way this hatter looked at her. It made her squirm. “Just take the letter, please,” she tried. “I made a promise.” Were those her parents’ guards she could see out of the corner of her eye? No, Jane would ensure her parents thought she was sleeping. 

“Ah,” he says, finally releasing her hand to take the parchment. “And you do not break promises, hmm? Some things are ingrained in us, I suppose.” He unfolds it and looks down at it, his eyes scanning it over. He gives away nothing as he tucks it into his coat. “Thank you.” 

“That’s it?” She tries to keep the disappointment from her voice and the tension out of her spine. Instead of answering, he just smiles at her, showing too many teeth. He tilts his head up, and Emma swears she sees a harsh line along his neck, but when she looks again she just sees normal, unmarred skin. He searches around his stall for a moment, raising a finger for her to wait. Finally he holds out a small bottle of dust. It sparkles and Emma doesn’t trust it, but she takes it anyway. For some reason she does not want to deny this man. “What is this?” 

“Fairy dust, of course. Never know when it might come in handy.” The toothy grin is back. 

“How did you get it?” Not even her mother has fairy dust at her disposal, unless it comes attached to the Blue Fairy’s skirts and with it, conditions of use. 

“I worked for the Dark One in another life.” His face is blank, his tone straightforward. 

Of course Emma knows of the Dark One. Mysterious and solitary, immortal and powerful. The only thing he ever does without asking for a price is end wars, and the only good rumor about him is that he has a pension for protecting children. Every other rumor tells of his greed and viciousness. He does not break deals, much like she does not break promises. Or are those the same thing? The stark contrast within his character has always set her teeth on edge. Once, Emma heard someone say he has one line of descendants, his genealogy passed down through one person at a time. One son, one grandson, and so on. Emma doesn’t ever want to meet a person raised by someone with the word Dark in their title. 

“Isn’t fairy dust light magic? Why would the Dark One traffic in that?”

“He doesn’t. He traffics in names.” Emma realizes then that she does not know the hatter’s name. 

“Then why would he have fairy dust?” 

“He doesn’t have it. I have it.” The conversation moves quickly back and forth, as if he is growing tired of explaining things to her that must seem so trivial to him. If he always acts this way with people, no wonder no one is at his stall. And Emma is losing valuable traveling time, so she tucks the dust into her satchel. Yes, she thinks, those are definitely her parents’ guards she sees. And they’re drawing slowly near her. “Remember,” the hatter says, his eyes imploring, “it’s wrong. Fix it.” She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she turns to leave. Jane better have a good reason for knowing this man. 

“Princess!” Excellent, they’ve spotted her. Emma pulls the hood of her cloak just enough over her eyes to ensure her face is better shielded, but not enough to obscure her vision. “Princess, wait!” Emma starts to run, the hatter’s chuckle fading behind her as she leaves the market. The woods are close. She can lose the guards in the trees. 

……

It takes Emma longer than usual to reach the imposing, empty castle. Her mind races so much that every so often she finds herself stumbling on a trail she’s walked a hundred times before. Every scrape or scuffling sound behind her send a chill through her. Hopefully Jane has told her family a lie convincing enough that the guards are called back. Jane is surprisingly adept at handling crises, so Emma fights her better judgment and trusts her. And she has never trusted easily, despite immense evidence to the contrary. Princess Leia would be much better at evading and sensing deception than Emma is. Emma always seems to get it wrong. The name is gone as swiftly as it inserted itself into her mind. Princess who? It doesn’t matter. She hurries on. 

The dark, jagged edges of the castle come into view and pull Emma out of her reverie. When she gets close enough, she reaches out to touch the walls with the tips of her fingers. How to get in? The way her parents talk about this place, it must be filled with spells and traps. Usually she sits in the grass outside and wonders what it must be like to live in a place like this. The corridors must have more twists and turns than the hallways at home. More secrets, too. Would it resemble the inside of her mind? Would it make her feel less alone? She shakes her head. She’s never been alone. That is the problem, isn’t it? And now with this impending marriage, she will never be alone again. Of course, she only agreed to meet with him. But she knows her father, knows he must have taken her agreement as an “I do” instead of the appeasement that it was. 

Emma walks around the base of the castle, looking for anything resembling a secret entrance. She knows the main entrance at the front should be avoided at all costs. A sharp crack in the woods behind her startles her, and she crouches instinctively and ducks a little further into the castle’s shadows. It must be an animal. It must. Jane has never let her down before. She remains still for a few moments, waiting to be discovered, but no one steps out and apprehends her. Running her fingers along the walls, she feels for a crack or a crease, anything that might give way when pushed. She’s always been told not to stray here, but she was never given many specifics other than that the owner was of a dark mind and a darker heart. Her mother’s greatest fear is dark magic first and this castle second, so it only makes sense that the two would be connected. Threads of enchantments must be woven within the walls. Emma just has to find the one that lets her in. 

Shouting comes from the woods behind her, and Emma recognizes the voice as the head of her parents’ guard. So Jane wasn’t able to convince them to call the guards back. Emma should have known. But Jane has always seemed like so much more than she lets on. She carries herself with a grace that hints of untapped power, and when she speaks people can't help but listen. But when has someone ever been able to choose their station in life?

Emma’s hands trace along the walls faster, but still she finds nothing. She hopes the unnatural darkness that emanates from the building covers her enough to avoid detection. If she can find a way in, she knows she’ll be safe. The guards wouldn’t dare enter, having been raised on the same stories Emma was. Several men break free of the treeline and inch toward where she hides. One guard, a young man named Thomas, seems to catch her eye for a moment. Emma presses closer to the wall, her palms flat against the surface. 

She’s not even sure why she's always been drawn here, why she felt the need to escape so suddenly. But the idea of remaining in her room, doing nothing while her parents plan her future - that she will not do. She’s never been able to sit still for very long. All she knows is that she needs to be here right now. She can feel it. Her whole life seems like a dream, and she’s just now waking up. Something about her 28th year, maybe. 

The rest of the guards seem to give up, never coming close enough to the castle to be able to see her. Emma can imagine what they’re thinking: ‘she must have slipped past us, back into the forest. Yes, best to turn back and look for her elsewhere.’ Emma lets herself breathe, relaxing her muscles and shaking the cobwebs off her clothing. Her palms still rest on the wall, and when she tries to pull them off, she finds she can’t. Panic threatens to overtake her, and she wrestles to pull herself forward. Realizing her efforts are futile, she leans back and rests her head, trying to think. Her body flat against the wall, she closes her eyes. This was stupid. There was a reason she never got close enough to touch the castle before. She knew there’d be dangerous magic here and she came anyway. Well, she’s made her bed now. Might as well lay in it. 

Suddenly the building doesn’t feel so solid anymore. Emma’s pretty sure she’s sinking, becoming one with the stone. Before she can so much as yelp in surprise, she’s being sucked inside. When she opens her eyes next, she can barely see, but the breeze is gone and the air is cooler. She’s inside! Emma pokes tentatively at the stone she just fell through. It doesn't budge. So she's trapped. Oddly enough, that doesn't scare her as much as it should. 

The halls light up as Emma walks, candles conjuring flame and casting eerie shapes up to the ceiling. There’s a whistling sound coasting all around her that grows louder the more she explores. Something must be here. Something to help her make sense of her life. Something to explain the hatter’s odd remarks earlier. Emma would take anything at this point. She comes to a split in the corridors, veering off left and right. The whistling seems to want her to head right, and she can’t seem to fight it. Maybe this is what she’s meant for. She can't see the end, but she's not afraid. She feels the weight of her father's old sword on her hip, lets it comfort her. Could she be hearing ghosts? The wails of those said to have foolishly entered this place, never to escape? Perhaps they are searching for a savior. Emma thinks that could be her. She could be a savior, if the timing was right. 

"Hello," she offers up to the unknown, "my name is Emma." The whistling flits about, excited. So Emma is not the only one looking for something after all. Tentatively optimistic, she continues. "People tell me I have a dislike of reality. Sometimes I feel like if my arms were long enough I could claw out the sky like a tapestry on a wall." Now she feels the wind, tugging at her hair, sizing her up. The only word that comes to her mind is anticipation. "I, uh, I have never been in love." And she probably won't ever be, huh? 

There's a groaning, like an old giant rolling over and waking up. The castle shakes with the force of it, and Emma suddenly feels very very small. When she looks up, she has reached the end of the hallway, and there's a door where there wasn't one before. It seems to shimmer before her eyes. She waves a hand in front of it, trying to discern if it's real. Maybe all of this is getting to her head. More mundane occurrences certainly have no trouble affecting her mind. The door creaks open on its own. Sure, she thinks, why not? Peering inside, Emma is surprised to find the room empty except for a coffin, displayed in the center of the room like some kind of twisted trophy. The whistling reverberates off the walls, and the sound makes Emma’s ears hurt. She can’t even hear herself think, which actually might be a nice reprieve. She reaches the coffin and leans over it, trying to see inside the clouded glass. Was that a woman inside? Her hand hovers above the surface, dangerously close to touching it. The minute her hand ghosts across the glass, it shatters. Yes, that is definitely a woman inside.


End file.
